Dying Rivers
by neonate
Summary: [AU] Two living corpses, trying to breathe life into each other. Neji x Sakura.


**Dying Rivers  
**by neonate

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situation created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto and various publishers including but not limited to Shonen Jump and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This fic is for my 30 kisses project. It's been months since I last wrote, so feel free to point out the things you think need changing. Of Seeking Guidance, it's still alive and undergoing major editing.

* * *

_For A.  
__Not forever, but for a long, long time._

* * *

They met by the black gate. She landed a light kiss shy a couple of millimeters away from his pale cheek. The kissing sound of her puckered lips against the cold air sounded like a blast to his ears. 

"How are you?" asked her casually. Her breath was warm and white smoke came out from between her painted lips.

"I'm fine." He took a good look at the woman in front of him. She had bags under her eyes and her eyelids were puffy. "And you?" he asked out of courtesy.

"Never better," she answered with a smile and a convincing nod.

He forced a thin smile of his own and the reply slipped easily. "You look stunning."

Years passed by and there was only one thing that never changed between them. They had never stopped lying. It was all right.

She opened her mouth to say something but closed it quickly. Neji pretended that he didn't notice that. The thin smile was intact on his face and he needed it more than ever to hold. The first minutes were always the hardest. It was when lies were exposed more easily, when the mask was still fresh, and when the surge of emotions was still raw.

They had had this battle of wills before. The first one to surrender would be the loser. Such a simple rule. Here came the time to turn their eyes away from the truth but not from each other. Here came the time to put a brave front no matter how painful their proximity was.

They were such great liars. Never better.

Everything was fine. Absolutely dandy. In a fairytale that never ends, they were young and beautiful. Their child had not died young. They were happily married. The list went on and on. They never had to kiss the air because they were afraid that one feel, _one_ touch against each other's skin would kindle a fire long forgotten. They never had to utter empty flatteries and niceties because then they would be honest. It was easy to hide behind the pages of this fairytale.

It was less agonizing.

Really, it was.

This way, they would only die a little bit each time.

"Shall we go in?" he broke the silence. It was close to zero degrees that day. The cold air didn't bother him as much as her presence. He wanted to finish this meeting as soon as possible and go home.

She bit her lips. The sky was grey and the ground was stark white. The snow had been merciless at this time of the year. It covered everything. The tiny gravestone would be buried under a blanket of frost. Her favorite tree would be bald and dying. Her child lay cold inside his earth prison, waiting for a visit from his parents. He had not spoken his first word when he'd died.

He had not known how to call this woman 'Mother' and that man 'Father'.

Poor baby.

_Shall we go in? Shall we go in and look at the stone we planted on our child's broken body? Shall we pretend that he is happy now? Shall we shed a polite tear or two so that he will know that once, once he was loved? _

She hated that short gravestone. It was keeping her child under. It was crushing his bones and the remains of his maggot-feeding-flesh that had been long gone.

Her womb hurt. It remembered.

Shall we go in?

"Of course."

She smiled and pressed a hand against her stomach.

It hurt.

* * *

She'd picked a silk undergarment for her little son. She knew it was going to be freezing inside, so she'd chosen the best silk possible to keep him warm. The tiny fingers had been cold for several hours when she slipped the robe and tied the sash. 

He'd looked perfect.

Neji wondered what happened to the silk. Are they still keeping his son warm?

In front of him, his wife suddenly stopped walking. Her black coat danced with the winter wind when she turned around and faced him.

"He would be four this year," she said, her joined fingers resting at her abdomen.

"In about a month," he agreed. When he said this, Neji almost choked. His son had been born in winter. He'd died eleven months into his first year.

"He would be starting kindergarten," she said again.

"Would he?" he replied absent-mindedly.

"Yes." She was silent for a while and bit her lips again. Her eyes misted with fresh tears. "Yes, he would."

"Sakura—"

His wife ignored him. "Next year, he'd come home with his first crayon drawing. The next year, he'd entered first grade."

"Stop," he said, pained.

She was losing so badly. Look at those tears frozen on the corner of her eyes. Neji couldn't see her like this, she was losing. He was winning too easily.

But she didn't care, did she? She kept losing. The words kept pouring out. "Then he'd want to ride a bicycle. He'd want you to teach him."

Her last words affected him more than he'd thought possible.

"Stop." His voice was hoarse. She was taking him down with her.

"He'd love to run. He'd hate being kept inside."

Something inside him wilted and died. With a cry, he took several quick strides to her and grabbed her forcefully against him. It was too soon. It was too fresh. Things were not supposed to happen like this. Their masks were too fragile. He'd known that it was a bad idea to meet. Three years were not long enough. Where was that brave front she was supposed to put on? Where was that fairytale she was supposed to believe? He wanted to shout to her face, _shut up! Shut up! You're killing me again. You're losing. You're losing, but you're killing me instead! Shut up!_

(Again, again, she sobbed and he felt small)

"Don't," was all he managed.

He took her face between his palms and covered her lips with his own. Two living corpses, trying to breathe life into each other. It was necessary. It was appropriate. There was no love there. No heat. It was permissible.

He pressed his lips against hers and waited for the world to crumble and his breath to end.

But it was all in vain.

He didn't die.

Her lipstick felt cold against his skin.

The world was still.

And it began snowing.

* * *

It's still winter here.

-August 25, 2005-


End file.
